The Pearls of Loreto
Within memory of the most gnarled and coffee-coloured Montereno never had there been so exciting a race day.All essential conditions seemed to have held counsel and agreed to combine. Not a wreath of fog floated acrossthe bay to dim the sparkling air. Every horse, every vaquero, was alert and physically perfect. The rains wereover; the dust was not gathered. Pio Pico, Governor of the Californias, was in Monterey on one of his brief infrequent visits. Clad in black velvet, covered with jewels and ropes of gold, he sat on his big chestnut horse atthe upper end of the field, with General Castro, Dona Modeste Castro, and other prominent Monterenos, hisinterest so keen that more than once the official dignity relaxed, and he shouted "Brava!" with the rest.And what a brilliant sight it was! The flowers had faded on the hills, for June was upon them; but gayer than thehills had been was the race-field of Monterey. Caballeros, with silver on their wide gray hats and on their saddles of embossed leather, gold and silver embroidery on their velvet serapes, crimson sashes about their slender waists, silver spurs and buckskin botas, stood tensely in their stirrups as the racers flew by, or, duringthe short intervals, pressed each other with eager wagers. There was little money in that time. The goldenskeleton within the sleeping body of California had not yet been laid bare. But ranchos were lost and won;thousands of cattle would pass to other hands at the next rodeo; many a superbly caparisoned steed would rear and plunge between the spurs of a new master.And caballeros were not the only living pictures of that memorable day of a time for ever gone. Beautifulwomen in silken fluttering gowns, bright flowers holding the mantilla from flushed awakened faces, sat their impatient horses as easily as a gull rides a wave. The sun beat down, making dark cheeks pink and white cheeksdarker, but those great eyes, strong with their own fires, never faltered. The old women in attendance grumbledvague remonstrances at all things, from the heat to intercepted coquetries. But their charges gave the goodduenas little heed. They shouted until their little throats were hoarse, smashed their fans, beat the sides of their mounts with their tender hands, in imitation of the vaqueros."It is the gayest, the happiest, the most careless life in the world," thought Pio Pico, shutting his teeth, as helooked about him. "But how long will it last? Curse the Americans! They are coming."But the bright hot spark that convulsed assembled Monterey shot from no ordinary condition. A stranger wasthere, a guest of General Castro, Don Vicente de la Vega y Arillaga, of Los Angeles. Not that a stranger wasmatter for comment in Monterey, capital of California, but this stranger had brought with him horses whichthreatened to disgrace the famous winners of the North. Two races had been won already by the black Southern beasts."Dios de mi alma!" cried the girls, one to the other, "their coats are blacker than our hair! Their nostrils pulselike a heart on fire! Their eyes flash like water in the sun! Ay! the handsome stranger, will he roll us in the dust?Ay! our golden horses, with the tails and manes of silver--how beautiful is the contrast with the vaqueros intheir black and silver, their soft white linen! The shame! the shame!--if they are put to shame! Poor Guido! Willhe lose this day, when he has won so many? But the stranger is so handsome! Dios de mi vida! his eyes are likedark blue stars. And he is so cold! He alone--he seems not to care. Madre de Dios! Madre de Dios! he winsagain! No! no! no! Yes! Ay! yi! yi! B-r-a-v-o!"Guido Cabanares dug his spurs into his horse and dashed to the head of the field, where Don Vicente sat at theleft of General Castro. He was followed hotly by several friends, sympathetic and indignant. As he rode, he toreoff his serape and flung it to the ground; even his silk riding-clothes sat heavily upon his fury. Don Vicentesmiled, and rode forward to meet him.